


Out of the Past

by aderyn



Series: Compounds or Stars [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221b, ASiB, Gen, a little noir, what might we deduce about his heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-28
Updated: 2012-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-31 20:42:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aderyn/pseuds/aderyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"John was eating some Chinese in Camden when a shadow fell over his chow mein. </p>
<p>'Mycroft' he said, without looking up."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Past

**Author's Note:**

> A little experiment with Sherlock meets old detective films (!): The first line is from the 1975 version of “Farewell, My Lovely(“I was eating some Chinese downtown when a shadow fell over my chow mein” );the last is a variation on a line from “Out of the Past” (1947)(“How big of a chump could I get to be? I was finding out.”)

 

John was eating some Chinese in Camden when a shadow fell over his chow mein.  
  
“Mycroft,” he said, without looking up.  He could easily distinguish a Mycroft-shaped shadow from all of the others that might have fallen over him.  
  
“What do you want, Mycroft? I don’t think it’s my leftovers.”  
  
“No,” Mycroft said,” It’s my brother's heart.”  
  
“I don't happen to have that here,” said John, taking a bite.  
  
“I don't want it back,” Mycroft said, “I just need to know that you’re … “  
  
“It's in a safe place, and I’ve made copies.”  
  
“So if anything should happen to you...”  
  
“Right,” John said.  
  
“Right,” Mycroft said, “I trust you'll prove a better guardian than I ever was.”

He dematerialized into the rain, under the umbrella.  
  
John pushed the noodles aside.  
  
Of course he had Sherlock’s heart with him. It was nestled in the waistband of his jeans; it was settled in the pockets of his coat, cupped carefully in his hands under the battered, scarlet Formica.  What was he going to do, leave it at home? Where it might be in danger of being tossed carelessly out or accidentally used in an experiment? Or analysed for stress cracking by a naked, teal-eyed, killer-heeled dame?  He wasn’t going to make that mistake again.  
  
How sorry of a sod could he get to be?

 


End file.
